The Boy Ranchers Among the Indians Page 5

  "Good price?" exclaimed Nort. "Do they put them up at auction?"

  "No, I didn't mean just that," Rolling Stone hastened to add. "I mean if they ask a ransom they're bound to keep the prisoners in good shape for if they don't produce 'em in that same fashion they're likely to slip up on the reward."

  "Then they won't harm Rosemary or Floyd?" asked Dick, whose vivid imagination had pictured his cousins as being subject to the tortures of the burning stake.

  "Well, of course they won't have feather beds to sleep on," spoke Rolling Stone slowly, "but I take it your cousins are used to roughing it, and it will be no worse than a scouting trip for them."

  "Yes, I s'pose Floyd is used to camping out," admitted Bud. "But as for Rosemary—"

  "Don't worry, son," advised Snake. "Rosemary is a western girl and you know what your sister is."

  "That's right!" and Bud visibly brightened. "Nell could look after herself if given half a chance. And maybe we'll catch up to these Yaquis before very long."

  "Sure we will!" asserted Snake, but he and the other cowboys, more experienced in matters of this sort than our heroes, felt that there was a grim terror between them and those whom they pursued.

  However they had started, and were making as good time as possible. Messages had passed between Mr. Merkel and those in authority at La Nogalique, and the probable route of the kidnapping Yaquis was indicated as well as could be. This saved a long trip to the border in order to get on the trail of the Indians from the time they had taken Rosemary and Floyd.

  Well armed, with righteous indignation burning in their hearts, used to roughing it, and with men who knew almost every foot of the country, the expedition from Diamond X was well equipped for the work in hand.

  At first after they started out there was eager talk, and speculation as to where the Indians would be met with, and what the probable outcome would be of the fight that was sure to follow.

  "Unless they run off when they see us and leave Rosemary and Floyd for us to bring back," spoke Dick, almost afraid lest this outcome should prevent a fight.

  "Don't worry. They won't run! They'll stand and give us as good or as bad as we can send," declared Rolling Stone.

  "We'll wipe out the band if we get half a chance!" declared Bud, and it was not said in a bloodthirsty or boastful spirit. It was calm retribution that actuated our friends.

  Along the trail they traveled—a trail they were destined to follow for weary days and nights. This was only the beginning. They must make all the speed they could, and yet spare the horses all that was possible. There was a chance of getting new mounts at several places, but it was only a chance and could not be depended on. They must save what they had, both in the way of horseflesh and rations.

  Night found them well on their way, and though the boys were eager to continue, Snake insisted on a halt being made not only for supper but to give men and horses a needed rest.

  "The Indians will have to stop just as we do," said the older cowboy.

  "They can't keep on continually; they have to stop and rest."

  "Yes, I suppose so," granted Bud.

  So the night camp was made, and when the horses had been turned out to graze, hobbled so they would not stray, and when the evening meal was over, the party sat about the fires, talking of but one topic—what would happen when they came up with the Yaquis.

  As they were in friendly country, not after cattle rustlers and had no fear of Del Pinzo and his gang, there was felt to be no need of standing guard. But for all this Bud, Nort and Dick were a bit restless, and did not sleep as soundly as the others.

  In fact along toward morning, though while it was yet very dark, Nort, thinking he heard suspicious noises, unrolled from his blanket and stood up.

  "What's the matter?" came in a hoarse whisper from his brother.

  "I don't know," answered Nort, in the same hoarse tones. "I thought I heard something."

  "So did I," and Dick scrambled out to stand beside his brother. "Are the horses all right?"

  "I hope so. We're lost without them. Let's take a look and—"

  Nort stopped suddenly and pointed to the northern sky. Above the horizon shone some red sparkles of light skimming and shimmering through the dark night.

  "Shooting stars!" remarked Dick, in a whisper.

  "Shooting nothing!" cried Nort, and his voice was loud. "Those are signals from the Yaquis! Snake! Wake up! We're right close to the Indians!" he yelled.

  CHAPTER IX

  A LONE INDIAN

  Less noise than that which issued from the excited throat of Nort would have been sufficient to arouse a larger camp than that of the cowboys on the trail of the Yaquis. Instantly every man in the party, not forgetting Bud who had been sleeping as soundly as any, was on the alert, gun in hand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other fist.

  "What's up?" snarled Snake. He always did hate to rouse suddenly.

  "Look!" cried Nort, pointing to the north, where, now and then, a shimmering light cut the blackness of the sky. "Dick says they're shooting stars, but I say Indian signals."

  "They aren't shooting stars, that's sure!" declared Rolling Stone. "I've slept in the open too often, counting those same shooting stars, to be mistaken. They're signals of some kind!"

  "But not Indians' signals," asserted Yellin' Kid.

  "Whose then?" Nort wanted to know, satisfied that he had not awakened the camp in vain.

  "They're rockets—or some sort of fire works," went on Dick. "First I thought they were shooting stars, but I can see now that they aren't. They're sky rockets or Roman candles."

  "That's right," agreed Snake. "And no Yaquis will fool with such infernal machines as them."

  "Unless your cousins had some," suggested Yellin' Kid looking toward

  Bud and his chums. Some one had thrown an armful of greasewood on the

  fire, and it blazed up brightly, disclosing the countenances of the

  Indian trailers.

  "What would Rosemary and Floyd be doing with fireworks?" asked Bud.

  "I didn't know but what they might be bringing some to Diamond X for a celebration, and the Indians, having laid hands on the rockets as well as on your cousins, might be setting 'em off—setting off the rockets I mean—for a celebration over their victory," observed Yellin' Kid, somewhat out of breath after this long oration.

  "Nonsense!" asserted Snake. "The Indians wouldn't set off the rockets on purpose. They'd be afraid. Though of course they may have done so by accident."

  "I don't believe Rosemary or Floyd would be bringing us fireworks," remarked Bud. "They're too old for such kid stuff."

  "That's what I thought," said Snake.

  "But who is shooting off the rockets?" asked Nort, as another brilliant burst of fire, not unlike shooting stars, illuminated the dark northern sky.

  "Troopers," said the old cowboy.

  "Troopers?" question Dick.

  "Yes. United States cavalry. There are several companies stationed out here, and they may be on a practice march, or having a sham battle, as they sometimes do. These are signals from one post to another."

  "Or maybe a signal about the Indians," suggested Bud.

  "Yes," agreed Snake. "It may be the troopers are after the Yaquis. I sure hope so, for the imps are going to be hard enough to nab once they get up in the foothills and mountains. We'll need the help of the troopers for sure!"

  "Isn't there some way we could let them know we're coming?" asked Dick.

  "Not very handy," the cowboy leader answered. "We haven't any fireworks, and shooting off our guns would only waste good bullets that we may need later. Besides, those shooting stars are farther off than they look. We couldn't make our guns heard, and the flashes would be so low down they couldn't be seen. All we can do is to wait until morning. We're traveling in that direction anyhow, and we may come up with the regulars."

  "With their help we'll make short work of the Yaquis!" boasted Nort.

  "Don't be so sure of th
at," warned Rolling Stone. "The Indians, while nothing like the American redmen, are cute and foxy enough in their own way. They probably know of nooks and hiding places in the mountains where they could lay up for weeks, and almost next door to a troop of soldiers, without getting located. It's going to be largely a matter of luck if we nab 'em!"

  "Well, here's hoping," voiced Bud, as he turned toward the fire.

  It was chilly out in the open at that hour of the morning. For though the days are very hot, it began to get cool very often as soon as the sun went down, and the air kept getting cooler until the golden rays again warmed the earth. So one and all sought the genial blaze, to thaw out a little before again rolling in blankets to wait for sunrise.

  Aside from the alarm over the shooting stars, nothing else disturbed the camp that night, and all were gladly astir with daybreak. The fire was started into new life, and soon coffee was boiling over the coals, while mingled with its odor was the appetizing smell of crisp bacon.

  "Let me make the flapjacks," begged Rolling Stone. "I used to be a great hand for them, and I still have some small skill."

  He would need to have, for not a member of the party but what could turn a neatly browned cake high in the air, catching it unerringly as it came down, to be cooked on the other side. Even Nort and Dick had become quite adept at this.

  But the skill of even Snake Purdee had to take a back seat in the face of the performance of Rolling Stone. Not only were his cakes better in taste, and more delicately browned, but he showed almost uncanny skill in tossing them high in the air, and catching them in the pan as they came down. Not once did a cake "slop over"—that is descend half within and half without the pan. Each one fell true and in the middle of the skillet, there to be held over the coals again until crisp and brown.

  "You're a wonder—that's what you are!" affirmed Yellin' Kid in his usual hearty tones, as he passed his tin plate for more.

  "It's a gift—that's all! Just a gift!" modestly admitted the self-constituted "flapjacketer," as he laughingly dubbed himself.

  Smart was the word and smart was the action when breakfast was ended. The horses had made their meal during the night, and were ready for their riders who were soon in the saddle, riding toward the north—the north in which direction the Yaquis had vanished with their captives—the north where the mysterious signal lights had been seen.

  Through the day rode the posse of self-constituted seekers after the captives. They could not hope, for some time yet, to come upon actual traces of the Yaquis. But they felt that they were heading in the proper direction.

  It was towards the close of the afternoon, when they were beginning to seek for a suitable camping place, with water, that Nort, who had ridden on a little in advance, came to a halt at the top of a rise. His halt was caused by the appearance of a solitary horseman, coming toward him. And it needed but a second look, through that clear atmosphere, to disclose that the rider was not an American cowboy.

  "What's wrong, Nort?" called Bud, for he had sensed something unusual in his cousin's attitude.

  "An Indian!" was the answer. "A lone Indian!"

  The others rode hastily up the slope. The solitary horseman was coming rapidly on. He seemed to have no fear of thus riding into the midst of his enemies.

  "Got his nerve with him, anyhow!" mused Snake, as he looked to his gun.

  "Maybe he's come to say the Yaquis will surrender and give up Rosemary and Floyd," suggested Dick. "Maybe they know we're on their trail."

  CHAPTER X

  SHOTS FROM AMBUSH

  The boy ranchers were very free with their surmises as to what might portend the oncoming of the lone Indian. Youth is ever thus, eager to guess instead of waiting for certainties. The older cowboys—Yellin' Kid, Snake, Rolling Stone and those who made up the rescue party—remained in silent contemplation of the approaching figure.

  "He rides doggoned funny," observed Snake.

  "Like a bag of oats," added Rolling Stone. "Looks like he'd fall off any minute."

  "Say!" began Bud eagerly, and then he stopped, as if he had thought better.

  "What's the matter?" asked Nort.

  "Don't you know somebody who rides just like that?" Bud inquired.

  "Some one we all know?"

  Nort and Dick uttered exclamations. Bud's words were all that was needed to set in motion a slumbering train of thought.

  "Looks to me like he was hurt," affirmed Yellin' Kid. "Can't be one of the Yaquis. They wouldn't be this near. And if they was they'd be too big cowards to ride right for us this way."

  "This isn't any unfriendly Indian!" declared Bud. "He knows us—and we know him!"

  "How come?" demanded Snake, half incredulously.

  "Can't you see?" cried Bud. "It's our own Indian—Buck Tooth!"

  "Wow!" shouted Yellin' Kid. "So it is! But I'd never have known him.

  He's all togged out—got his war paint on!"

  And, in very truth, Buck Tooth—for he it was—had donned a strange garb. Wearing some of the clothing of civilization, he had ornamented himself with dangling bits of cow-hide, with parts of tails dangling from it. He carried behind him a collection of pans and camp paraphanalia that rattled and banged about him as he rode forward. He had stuck some feathers in his coarse black hair and he was a somewhat laughable mixture of an American and Mexican Indian on the warpath.

  "Ugh!" grunted Buck Tooth when he came within speaking distance. Not that he ever spoke much, but this was his greeting.

  "What'd you come away from the ranch for?" demanded Bud, for Buck Tooth was a valued hand on a cattle place, and he had been left with the somewhat small force to take charge of Happy Valley when the others had started after the Yaquis. "What you doing here?" Bud wanted to know.

  "Me after 'em too—Yaquis!" grunted the Indian. "Me catchum an' shootum same like um shoot me!"

  As he spoke, or, rather, grunted this out, he pointed to his left shoulder. It was bound about with bloody rags, and in spite of his stoicism the Indian winced as he moved in the saddle.

  "Did the Yaquis shoot you?" cried Nort.

  "Sure! I come after you—no could stay when fight to be done—and

  Yaquis what you call plug me! But I plug one, two, three 'fore I quit!"

  "Where was this?"

  "Was there a fight?"

  "Lead us there!"

  "When did it happen?"

  These were only a few of the questions hurled at Buck Tooth, whose name was obviously well earned once you had looked at him. The old native seemed stunned by the volley of interrogations, and sat stolidly in his saddle while more were shot at him.

  "Ugh!" he grunted in answer. "Fight yistidy—back there," and he waved a dirty hand in the direction whence he had come.

  "Sure they were Yaquis?" asked Snake.

  "Sure; Me know—Me Yaqui once!"

  "That's right!" fairly shouted Bud. "I forgot, for the time being, that Buck Tooth is a sort of Yaqui Indian. But how comes it they fired on one of their own tribe?" he asked.

  "Bad Yaquis—no good!" was the answer.

  "That's right—they sure are bad!" declared Rolling Stone. "I've had dealings with 'em!"

  "Did you see anything of their prisoners—young lady and young man?" asked Snake. "Say, you'd better talk with him—you can sling his lingo better than I can," and the cowboy appealed to Bud.

  Thereupon the boy rancher talked to Buck Tooth in a way he knew his Indian helper could understand, and Buck Tooth answered in like strain. The Indian had been at Happy Valley ever since that venture had been under way, and in that time Bud and the old native had come to understand one another very well. Buck Tooth, it will be remembered, was of aid to Bud and his cousins when the fight over the water rights and the dam was under way, and the Indian helped fight Del Pinzo's gang.

  "It's this way," Bud translated to the others, having finished questioning the Indian. "He got sort of lonesome after we left the ranch, and though I told him he must stay, he hiked off on his
own hook to join us. He took a roundabout trail so he wouldn't meet up with us too soon and get sent back.

  "Then, it appears, yesterday, he ran into a bunch of Yaquis, and they fired at him. He got in among some rocks and fired back, and he says he did for two or three. Maybe he wounded 'em, or maybe he made 'em candidates for the Happy Hunting Grounds. Anyhow, after the fight he managed to get on our trail, and here he is."

  "But did he see anything of Rosemary and Floyd?" asked Nort.

  "Not a sign. He says these Yaquis didn't have any captives," Bud answered.

  "How do you account for that?" Dick wanted to know, while rather a grim silence fell on the others.

  "Well, this may have been another party of Indians. Very likely was,"

  Bud declared.

  "That's right!" chimed in Snake. "The ones that captured Rosemary and

  Floyd could hardly have gotten so far north as the ones were that gave

  Buck Tooth that little reminder in the shoulder."

  This opinion, coming from one who could reason out the matter, made everyone feel less apprehensive.

  "There must be two or three bodies of these Yaquis," went on Snake Purdee. "They always split up after a raid. One party has Rosemary and Floyd, and another engaged in a little set-to with Buck Tooth. Being one of them he knew their fighting tricks and he left his marks on 'em."

  "It's queer one Indian would turn against the others of the same tribe," spoke Nort.

  "No, not in Buck Tooth's case," declared Bud. "He's a good Indian, if ever there was one. And, as he says, these Yaquis may be a lot of half-breeds, or a part of the tribe that is outlawed from the others. I'm not standing up for the Yaquis," he hastened to add, "for I know they've done a lot of dirty work. But this bunch may be worse than the others. Anyhow Buck Tooth says so. And I'm glad he's with us. I felt sorry after I left him back at the ranch."

  "Yes, he'll be of service I reckon," asserted Snake, and Yellin' Kid nodded in agreement.

  The Indian's wound, which he had not troubled himself to dress, was looked after with rough and ready, but effective cowboy skill and then, a good camping place near a water hole having been reached, saddles were taken off the weary steeds who began to roll about in welcome relief.